Truths
by jnharrow
Summary: Some hard truths from a not-so-Merry Man shake up Stephanie's life.
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own JE's characters and I'm not making any money from this story._

_For Perfectly Plum Group Week 21 - Dee's Tiara Challenge _

_Use one or both of the following prompts: (1) What you really need to go with that is a tiara._

I twirled a curl over my finger and sucked the bubble I'd blown with my gum back in my mouth. I was beyond bored and a little on edge. Surveillance with Ed, the newest addition to the Rangeman team, was not my idea of a good time. It was the first time I'd had to spend hours on end with one of the guys I didn't know well.

Probably I wouldn't have had to be there if one of the guys hadn't come in with a nasty flu and taken down half the staff in a couple days time. Ranger was not pleased, to say the least, that Typhoid Merry Man hadn't taken a sick day instead of spreading the love. Especially when Ranger got called into the wind shortly afterwards and had to leave Tank manning the home front.

So as it happened, I was one of the few left standing and operational and here I was…stuck with Mr. Cheerful.

Admittedly, I don't know Ed very well, he'd only been employed for a few months, but I do place some faith in my first impressions and my spidey sense gave me a thumbs down on him. Not the kind of thumbs down that meant he was about to blow up a school bus or torture a kitten, just the 'eh, I'm not gonna be sharing friendly lunches with this guy' kind of thumbs down.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but couldn't see anything but his profile in the dark. He was a typical Rangeman specimen, bulky, built and taller than average. Not my type, though. Certainly, he wasn't ugly; he was actually quite generically good looking with his dark hair clipped short, straight nose and square jaw. No Lester, that's for sure, but decent. Probably next to Ranger he'd look unattractive, but then most people do.

But when I could see his eyes, which currently, inside the darkened SUV, wasn't possible, my brain filed him firmly in my 'unfriendly' category. His eyes were dark brown, like Ranger's, but they lacked any warmth. I couldn't speak for when he looked at anyone else, but when he looked at me, they seemed veiled with hostility that he wasn't too good at concealing.

I had some time on my hands, so I started wondering why he didn't like me. I mean, I do have my faults. I'm not too good at this bounty hunting thing yet and sometimes I end up covered in nasty stuff. Occasionally, I'll admit, there have been a few gunshot wounds and incapacitated partners at the end of my day. But hey, sometimes it's me who gets shot or blown up, so the odds aren't really that bad, are they?

Usually though, the one thing I can count on is that people generally like me. It helps me out a lot in my job. People like to talk to me for some reason. I guess I don't look scary. Whatever it is, Ed didn't get the memo, because I can tell that I'm not his favorite person.

Ugh. We'd been sitting here forever. I sighed. "I hope this guy shows up soon."

"I don't," he muttered under his breath.

Huh? What the hell? "Huh?"

"I don't hope he shows up," he said clearly and concisely.

I was completely confused now. "Why not? If he doesn't, that just means we'll have to sit here again watching the 'OTE N VANCY' sign flicker all night again."

"Never mind. Drop it."

I sat straight up in my seat and stared at the dark outline of his head. "No, really, I want to know. We've been trying to get this guy for a week now. Why wouldn't you want to get it over with?"

"I said, drop it."

"But--"

"Look, princess," he snapped. "All I want is to finish this shift in peace…and quiet. So how about I'll provide the peace and you provide the quiet?"

Ok, now I was mad. I flicked the interior light on so I could glare at him. Stay calm, Stephanie. You have to be diplomatic. You have to work with this guy. "What the hell is your problem?"

Oops. So much for diplomatic.

"My problem?" He turned and sneered at me. "My problem, princess, is the same one most of the guys at Rangeman have."

"What the hell are you talking about and what's with this princess crap?"

"Please. You know, what you really need to go with that royal attitude of yours is a tiara. Something flashy and expensive. Something as obvious as you are, so at first glance everyone will know to give you the special treatment you've--" he deliberately looked me up and down, "earned."

Oh, he did not just say that. I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks and gripped the door handle so hard I was afraid it was going to crack.

He leaned closer to me, "You want to know why I don't want our guy to show? Because he's armed and dangerous and I'm stuck with the most useless backup Rangeman has to offer." His tone was still low, but the malice contained in it seeped into me and chilled me to the bone. "You think anyone wants to partner up with some flaky, fuck-up chick who's just as likely to shoot her partner as her target?"

He ran a finger along my arm and I jerked away from him. "We do all wonder what on earth you could do that would be worth the price of all those cars and the huge likelihood of wrecking the company's reputation."

He laughed and sat back in his seat, still rambling on conversationally, "How many rules don't apply to you, huh? Gotta love that special treatment. Hey, you ever wonder why people shut up when you come into a room? It's a hot topic of conversation. Current bets are on a very talented tongue. Me? I think you got something on the boss, 'cause no piece of ass is worth all he pays out in cash and the damage to his rep. Care to end the speculation and share?"

"No?" he tapped his thick, blunt fingers on the steering wheel and said, "So whatcha gonna do now, princess? Run to the boss and tell on me? Oh, you can't. He's out of town. Gonna complain to Tank about how I told you the plain truth nobody else will? That every day that you're employed by Rangeman you endanger whoever gets saddled with you? If you actually do like any of the guys you work with, you'd do them all a favor and quit before you get someone killed."

Ok. What I wanted to do was call Tank, have him send someone over to relieve me and quit Rangeman right that instant despite the fact that it would give this jerk exactly what he wanted. No, strike that, I wanted to cry. Then do all that stuff. Or do all that stuff, then cry. No wait, I wanted to show Ed what a talented knee I had and go from there.

What I did do, making a herculean effort to blink back the hot tears in my eyes and successfully reining in my instincts to flee immediately, was say calmly, "I'm sorry you feel that way." Then I flicked the light off and we sat in uncomfortable silence for the remaining hour of the shift. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how accurately he'd stabbed me in the heart. The guy was an asshole, but maybe…maybe he had a point. Tank was swamped running things in Ranger's absence with a skeleton crew, the last thing he needed was drama from me to distract him.

It was agonizing, but I made it. The skip gave Ed a break and never made an appearance. We drove back to the office in silence and split up in the control room without another word.

I managed to smile and wave at the guys manning the control room before I made my hasty exit. I desperately needed to get home and have that cry. Then I had to figure out what I was going to do.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: This is completely different from the second chapter I posted on Perfectly Plum. I really, really, loathed that chapter. It was dull and annoying but I posted it anyway to get the reward challenge. I like this better. Chunks of the first are recycled from the original, but hopefully are more palatable in this form. _

I thought the tears would burst free the second I got inside the door of my apartment, but I was wrong. The urge to cry had receded completely and the only thing left was a weird numb feeling.

I guess I'd gotten over the initial jolt of shock and anger. Beneath the numbness, I could still feel the hurt, but it was as if it were cushioned in cotton wool, sending me only the occasional faint twinge to remind me of its presence.

I'm not sure how long it took me to go to sleep, once I hit the bed. I lay there a while. Normally, I'd grab my faithful cure-all, Ben and Jerry's, to soothe over any mental trauma, but this time I wasn't in the mood for salving my wounds with sweets.

Eventually my brain took pity on me and stopped going around in circles and I slept.

o o o

The next morning I still hadn't decided on what to do. I thought about it as I showered, dressed, ate my morning doughnut and drank my lifesaving liquid of rejuvenation. Some mornings, the word coffee just doesn't give the stuff the proper reverence.

I thought about it as I drove in to Rangeman.

Could the guys really be saying those awful things about me? They could be crass. That I knew. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a locker room sometimes. You get all that testosterone in one place and it's bound to happen. There were only two women at Rangeman, Ella and me, so there were some things floating around that might panic a seasoned veteran of human resources.

If Ranger knew about the 'Welcome to Rangeman' porn database, heads would probably roll, I suspected. Maybe rightly so, but I couldn't begrudge them much with the dirty, frequently boring and often dangerous jobs they did, so I wasn't going to snitch. I was just happy they got me flowers instead.

Pulling into the underground parking garage, I realized something weird had happened. Huh. I'm early. I'm never early. I glanced at the clock on the dash. Huh. This is what six-thirty looks like.

Stupid summer. Making stupidly early hours all light and confusing the heck out of morning haters everywhere. I sat in the car for a minute, thinking. Great, the guys are going to wonder when hell froze over and start looking out for winged pigs. Way to stay under the radar, Steph!

However, if I kept sitting in the car, unmistakably mine, as old, decrepit and worst of all not shiny black as it was, the control room would think something was up too. I stuck out like a sore thumb; I had no shot of sneaking back out again.

Ok, so I had to go in. No problem. I could go in and act normal despite the early hour. Or oooh…better yet, I could go in and look scary because of the early hour. Maybe that would frighten people away for awhile so I could work and figure out what I was going to do.

That decided, I leaned over to grab my purse from the passenger seat.

Taptaptap. I jumped about a mile and hit my head. Lester smiled and waved his keys at me from outside the driver's side window. Great. Lester's pretty good at reading me.

To an outsider, Lester would be a likely candidate for spreading or contributing to gossip about me. He has a reputation as a player, lives to flirt and possesses very few inhibitions. He also loves to talk.

But I don't think he would do that to me. As boyfriend or husband material, Lester sucks; I have to admit that. For friends though, he has this deep sense of loyalty and an oddly sensitive streak. If Lester had seen me last night and noticed I was upset, he would've shown up at my door with pizza, bad movies and ice cream. He's done it many times since my breakup with Joe. Often enough that I've gotten the occasional seemingly idle question from Ranger.

It's not like that though; it's almost like having a good girlfriend over. We stuff our faces, fight over the afghan and make fun of the movies. Sometime during the process, a little bit of Lester's effervescent personality rubs off on me and buoys me up. I always feel better after one of his visits.

I rubbed my head and scowled at him. Good. Start the scary. Back off world! Stephanie's grumpy.

I did have to open the door, though. He'd backed up as I gathered my things. My door swung open with a creaky clunk and I got an amused headshake from my spectator.

"Don't know why you won't take Ranger up on an offer for a company car, Beautiful."

This struck my new sore spot straight on. "I don't need Ranger to give me cars," I mumbled grouchily and headed for the elevator leaving him no option but to trail in my wake. Stupid slow elevator. I glared at it.

Lester leaned against the wall, arms folded. How dare he smile like that this early? Stupid, cheerful morning people.

"You mean any more cars?" he teased.

Oh, he was just asking for it. I ignored him.

He let his arms fall and straightened as the elevator finally arrived.

"I don't get it. We all drive company cars," he said, shrugging. "No reason you shouldn't. That heap looks like it's about to disintegrate any minute."

I punched the button for five. "That heap is what I can afford." I sighed. "And afford to insure." Nobody would give me comprehensive coverage anymore. I was lucky to get any insurance.

He shook his head as if he couldn't understand my problem. "Yeah, that's why a company car is good. If it blo--" he saw me stiffen and reworded, "has an unfortunate accident, Rangeman's insurance picks it up."

"Look, I don't need a car from Rangeman. Would you just drop it?" Okay, that's fifty points for getting across grumpy Steph and minus one hundred points for flying under the radar.

I could feel him staring at me, but I wouldn't look at him. Stupid elevator. So slow.

"Steph, is something wrong?"

"It's six-thirty in the morning!" I snapped in his face and hoped that would cover it.

It seemed to. He relaxed and chuckled. "True. I admit, I was wondering if it was one of the signs of the apocalypse."

"So funny," I muttered as the doors opened and I escaped.

Lester didn't follow me, thank goodness, but I knew he'd get back to me at some point. Probably, he figured a tactical retreat was in order until I'd had more coffee.

I got to my cube without seeing anyone else. Huh. It's kind of nice being here when half the people aren't. Bet I could get a lot of work done in peace if I did this regularly.

Right. Fat chance of that. I dismissed that pipedream and logged onto my computer. While I was waiting, I checked out my desk inbox. Full! How can it possibly be full? I'd just emptied it before I went out on surveillance yesterday. I sighed. Tank must have the guys handing off all searches because of the manpower shortage.

Oh well, at least it was something to keep me busy, while I stal--thought of a plan.

A huge blond head popped up over the cube divider in front of me. Hal. "Hey Steph!"

I knew Hal pretty well now. He'd recovered from the stun gun incident and hadn't held it against me, good-natured guy that he is. Probably he was relieved that I begged Ranger not to fire him for something that was my own fault.

Hal now teased me as if I were his sister and acted as my second-in-command in the super secret Rangeman Doughnut Appreciation Club. Members had to stay well underground. The fallout could be ugly if it was ever proven how the doughnuts kept reaching the break room without the culprits--er--benefactors being caught on tape. I knew Ranger suspected, but he had nothing concrete.

I felt another twinge as I looked at my often powdered sugar covered partner in crime. Surely not Hal. With his arms dangling easily over the partition and his face so friendly and open, he reminded me of a lovable golden retriever, waiting patiently for someone to play with him. All he lacked was a big tongue hanging out, panting.

"Hey, Hal." Being cranky to Hal would be like shooting a puppy. I just couldn't do it.

He ducked out of sight and reappeared in my cube, bending his huge form to whisper in my ear. "Sorry, you're early. I haven't had a chance to put them out yet." I still didn't know how he did it exactly, except that Hector, the camera wizard was somehow involved.

"That's ok."

He was silent.

He was so quiet for so long, that I looked up. "What?"

"Is something wrong, Steph?" His big brow furrowed.

Damn it. "Nope." I mustered a smile. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, normally you beg me for a stealth doughnut if I haven't managed to get them out yet."

"Oh."

He was still staring at me.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. If you can manage it."

He shook his head, confused at my lackluster response to the doughnuts, but didn't question me further. "Ok, I'll grab you a Boston Crème. Just don't let anybody see you with it. Ranger's out, so probably nobody's looking…but just in case."

I nodded solemnly.

Not Hal. He's just so nice. And…he likes me. I think. Hal wouldn't be afraid of me for safety reasons either, because Ranger never assigned him as my bodyguard or partner anymore. Even though he didn't fire Hal, Ranger doesn't forget.

"Here ya go." A doughnut appeared over the partition. Stealthy, Hal, very stealthy.

"Thanks." I took it and bit into my second dose of sugary goodness that morning. It didn't help any more than the first. I turned to the computer and navigated one-fingered to my mail. Maybe some work would help where sugar wasn't cutting it. I didn't even want the doughnut anymore, my stomach was queasy as it was, but I forced it down. Throwing it away would be sacrilegious.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Plum characters and I'm not making any money from this story.**_

o o o

The next thing I knew it was lunchtime. Searches are great for forgetting about everything and with so many guys out sick, apparently no one had time to disturb me. I rolled my head from side to side and stretched. Searches may be great for forgetting, but they're tough on back and neck muscles.

Opening my purse, I pulled out the sandwich I'd made earlier. Never say that Stephanie Plum is not prepared! Large purses are handy. Okay, well, maybe I'm not always prepared, but today I wanted to avoid the break room so a peanut butter and olive sandwich was on the menu. I pawed around a little more in the depths of my purse and came up triumphant with a slightly squashed butterscotch krimpet.

That's a perfectly balanced lunch. I had the protein group in the peanut butter; there are grains and fiber in white bread--well, probably it has a little in there somewhere; olives are vegetables…wait…are olives vegetables or fruits? Clearly, they should count as both since the line is so fuzzy. There's some fat in there, so no need to worry about that. Though I rarely worry about that category. I usually have that covered.

The tastykake is…uh…right. Oh! It's the extremely essential dessert category. I always did think that pyramid was all wrong. I mean really, you don't need all that vast space at the bottom for grains of rice. Grains of rice could fit perfectly well at the top in the tiny triangle. Just put a few in there; don't go crazy. Now birthday cake, that needs to be in the bottom of the pyramid. There's no room for a cake at the top in that itsy bitsy space. Some might say I've missed the point of the whole thing, but that's not the case, I'm deliberately avoiding it.

As I munched my sandwich, I wondered what Ranger would think of my nutritious lunch. I could almost hear the "Babe."

Ranger. If I were being honest with myself, I'd admit that I missed him. He's not a big talker, but those one-word sentences are rife with meaning if you know him. I know Ranger better than I know anyone else at Rangeman. When he's gone, the building feels a little emptier somehow. It felt very empty today and that's just stupid, because it's filled with huge guys dressed in black.

It's actually a good thing that I don't know the guys as well as I do Ranger. After my last breakup with Joe, I don't think the Burg needs much more to throw me into the town slut category. Ewww, I'd be there with Joyce. What a horrible thought.

I don't think Joe is responsible for the rumors that I'd cheated on him with Ranger. We'd parted amicably in the end and we've remained friends. It doesn't matter who started it though, or whether it was true. It only matters that it was repeated. And it was.

Ranger and I have hardly ever been alone or discussed anything but business since I came to work at Rangeman four months ago, so the rumors are very far off the mark.

I was coping. If the police were a little chillier to me, or the Burg wives shot me dirty looks, or my mother still wouldn't make me pineapple upside down cake even now, months later, that was okay. I'd live. It seemed silly that I'd feared my mother's wrath for so long. Now I'd discovered that while cake deprivation is a horrible thing, it is survivable. Just barely. On the plus side, my jeans are easier to zip.

It's sort of funny. There are all of those rumors floating out there, but if they knew the real situation, people would probably say I don't know Ranger at all, let alone have a relationship with him. He's so closemouthed about his personal life. After all, how many good friends don't know where the other one lives? The temporary crash pad that is the apartment upstairs doesn't count.

I feel like I do know Ranger though, regardless of the facts I lack. Sure, I don't know his mother's name or his teenage musical tastes or stories from his life in the army or any of the ordinary surface details people learn in the course of a friendship, but I know who he is. I know the important stuff.

As I finished and tossed the sandwich bag in the trash, I sighed. Going down the list of gaping holes in my Ranger information made me realize I might be crazy thinking I knew him.

I did know his favorite color. Take that, superficial, judgmental people! Only everyone who ever saw him, his fleet of cars or his men knew his favorite color. Clearly, I was special to Ranger or I wouldn't possess such sensitive information.

Right. Definitely time for the tastykake. I carefully unwrapped it, gently separating the plastic from the frosting. You can lose a lot of frosting that way if you aren't careful. I'm an expert. There's very little frosting loss when I'm in charge.

I took a great big bite and--

"Hey Steph, I'm headed to Shorty's to pick up some pizza. You want anything?" Bobby popped his head in and caught me mid bite.

I swallowed. "Thanks, but I already ate."

He gave me a strange look. "You feeling okay?"

What was it about me today? Can everyone tell something's wrong? "Yeah sure, Bobby, why?"

Again with the headshake and shrug. "You just don't seem yourself. You never turn down pizza. Hope you aren't coming down with the flu."

"Nope. All flu free. I just finished eating is all." Apparently my eating habits were the key to the Merry Men's read on my health and happiness. It was time to bring out a plausible excuse. "I'm on a diet."

"Oh." Bobby looked uncertain. Probably he was wondering if, as a member of the medical profession, he should tell me about the advisability and effectiveness of including tastycakes in my new diet. He opted for the safe route. "Okay, glad you aren't sick. See you later."

Whew, another close call. If I ate as much as these guys think I do, I'd weigh three hundred pounds. Then again, I do have a great metabolism. Eccentricity and a fantastic metabolism are both gifts from the Mazur side.

I considered Bobby. He always seems so serious and nice. We never talk much but Bobby doesn't talk that much in general. That seems to be a Rangeman trait too, though it hasn't spread to all of them yet and certainly not to Lester.

Bobby's never been anything but good to me. He gives me band-aids for my scrapes and gunshot wounds, slathers on antibiotic creams and talks me into going to the hospital when I have no choice about it. "It's stitches, Steph," he says gently and I know I have to go.

Regardless of what he thinks of me, I can't picture him yukking it up over Ranger's personal life. I can't picture him being mean to anybody.

I finished the tastycake and realized I'd forgotten to bring a drink. Now I was stuck…and thirsty. So much for being prepared. The only options I had were the break room and Ranger's apartment refrigerator. I weighed them carefully. Both places would be devoid of soda. The best I could expect from Ranger's place was bottled water. By heading there, I could avoid the guys having lunch in the break room, but the ones in the control room might wonder what the heck I was doing.

I try not to abuse my key fob privileges and since Ranger's been more distant, I don't feel right going up there. I especially don't feel right about it now. If I use the gym, I have no choice since there's only a locker room for the guys down there. Avoiding the gym isn't much of a hardship, so I haven't been up there in a long time. Most years, including this one, my New Year's resolutions die early, painless deaths.

Going up there now would look strange. Dusting the crumbs off my jeans, I stood up and prepared to meet the enemy. Or enemies. Or former friends. My co-workers. Whatever. The potentially mean people. Now I sounded like I was five.

At the cube doorway, I did an about face. More purse rummaging resulted in a tube of lipstick. Not as good as my bravery in a bottle, mascara, but better than nothing. A few minutes with my compact mirror and some expert war paint application later and I was ready. Wine With Everything might be a little dark for daytime, but it hadn't blown up yet and choices were limited. Ranger let me continue to take Vinnie's skips through Rangeman, so Lula and I continued our partnership and my cars continued being disposable. Makeup restocking was in my future, my stores were low. It's going to be drugstore shopping though, sadly. Department store counter makeup is too expensive for my explosive lifestyle.

Suddenly, I realized that if I hurried up and got my drink before Bobby came back with the pizza, my risk of exposure was limited. Probably, they wouldn't go in there until he got back.

I sped up and reached the break room in record time. Peeking around the corner, I saw a few contract workers Tank had pulled in to help cover the sick guys. I breathed a sigh of relief. Those guys didn't know me from Adam. Whoever Adam was.

Leisurely, I crossed the room to the refrigerator, opened it up and found--hallelujah--an unsweetened ice tea. Those were like gold. I could do something with that. That plus the sugar packets hidden in my bottom drawer could create something drinkable.

I closed the door and made my way back out. Mission accomplished! They never even looked at me. I wasn't doing the happy dance in my mind, since I still didn't feel very happy, but if there were a relieved dance, I'd be lining up to learn the steps.

I bumped into a wall.

"Steph. Just who I was looking for." A wall that was Tank.

"Hey Tank, what's up?" Never dance prematurely; it couldn't be good if he didn't just call my cell. That meant he wanted to ask whatever it was in person.

"I hate to do this, but could you do another surveillance shift for me tonight? We're still pressed for people. It'd be overtime."

Poor Tank. He looked like he'd be pulling his hair out if he had any. The dark circles under his eyes showed how much sleep he wasn't getting. Rangeman was a demanding company to manage when things were business as usual, right now it must be a nightmare. Crap. How was I supposed to get out of this one? The last thing I wanted to do was spend another long night trapped in a car with Ed, speaker of unfortunate and so far unproven truths. I didn't want to be trapped with anyone, but least of all him.

"Steph? You ok?"

Dammit. I let that pause drag out too long. "Yeah. Fine. Sorry, I was supposed to go to my parents, I'm wondering what the penalty for ducking out will be." Tiny lie. I bit my lip and pondered the best way to get the information I needed without giving anything away. "The schedule must be so tough right now. Who isn't sick? Who's on tonight?"

Tank sagged visibly. "People should start coming back in the next day or so. It's not that long of a bug. Few days and it's over. Problem is, it just hit everybody at the same time in the beginning. Now a second wave is hitting. Lester and Bobby were back today, so that helped. Tonight I was going to put you with Cal."

"No Ed?"

"No," Tank frowned and looked as frustrated as I'd ever seen him. "Ed's out with the damn disease today."

"Oh," I said, with just the proper touch of fake concern. "That's too bad." Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. If he really was sick, that is. I couldn't say no to Tank. "Ok, I'll do it. My mother will live."

"That's great, Steph, thanks. Helps me out a lot." He snorted in disgust. "It'd be my luck if I didn't have anyone to cover and the skip came home tonight and then never showed again."

My upcoming sacrifice on the altar of boredom was worth it to see some of the worry lines smooth out in his forehead. "S'ok, big guy. Whatever I can do." I meant it. I couldn't even consider Tank talking trash about Ranger and me. Tank has been kicked in sensitive areas and even shot when with me in the past, which would give him a good reason to avoid me, but he never has. Plus, I know he's too loyal to Ranger to gossip. He must not think I was that incompetent, because he was sending Cal out with me. I was pretty sure he liked Cal. At any rate, odds were good that he didn't want Cal maimed or dead.

On the other hand, from Tank's tone I thought he might not care too much about Ed's wellbeing, so last night's assignment wasn't a good thing to go by.

With a pat on the back, Tank thanked me again and mumbled something about getting back to his mountains of paperwork. I think Tank hates it even more than I do when Ranger's gone.

I took my tea and sneaked back to my cube. Belatedly, I realized that my furtive glances and peeking around corners probably looked odd on camera. If I'd known that I wasn't going to run into anyone, an unhurried walk would've been much stealthier. Oh well. I raided my sugar drawer and set about improving the tea.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Plum characters and I'm not making any money from this story._

_Note: Pardon me if the spacing is weird on some of these chapters. FFN is doing strange things when I import and trying to fix it seems to make it worse sometimes!_

o o o

Afternoon traffic was light, and I felt my mood lift just from getting out of the office. The bright summer sunshine streaming through my sunroof didn't hurt. My current car was almost fun in good weather if you closed your eyes and couldn't see the avocado green velour interior, which of course, you couldn't do while driving. All the same, the sunroof was nice. When it rained, little waterfalls formed and the foot wells required bailing periodically, but nothing's perfect. An empty Big Gulp cup did the trick.

Tank let me slip away early, not long after lunch, so that I could have a break before the night shift. All in all, things had gone as well as they could. I'd made a lot of headway with my pile of searches and Lester had been called to a client site, so he hadn't managed to corner me again. The only thing I'd definitely decided was not to abandon Tank. I'd wait until things quieted down and then think about quitting or confronting or whatever I felt like I had to do. It seemed wrong to quit while Ranger was away.

I had to go home and change into official Rangeman wear anyway. The apartment upstairs might have had a uniform for me in the closet…or it might not have, but I wasn't going up there to find out. It was easy enough to grab one from home.

It figured that I'd pick today to shirk the standard uniform. Usually I'm all about creative laundry management. I knew I wasn't going out of the office today, so it wasn't a big deal wearing jeans. That was supposed to allow me to save my last clean cargos and logo shirt for the client I was going to work for tomorrow afternoon. I had to look sharp to cover their security check-in desk. The Merry Man whose job I was borrowing needed to have a miraculous recovery because I wasn't planning to do it for more than a day. It almost sounded duller than monitor duty.

I gave the guy who'd just cut me off a half-hearted Italian hand gesture and turned onto my street.

Ella cleaned uniforms for the guys, but I'd never brought mine to her. Call me strange, but the only person other than me who I want doing my laundry is my mother and even she comments on anything she finds in the pockets.

Why are there always things left in the pockets anyway? It's not like I don't go through them thoroughly. The time I went to Domino's strip club with Lester--for a job!--I'd written a number on a matchbook, shoved it in my pocket and promptly forgotten about it. Now, the proper place to store things you want to temporarily forget, as every woman knows, is the bottomless black pit of an everyday purse, so why the pocket won that day, I don't know.

But my choice had major repercussions. My father--my father, who never gets involved in these things--gave me a look. Kind of a long-suffering, why are you doing this to me look. My mother was actually speechless for a good fifteen minutes after she found it. She stood in the living room, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, clutching the offending matchbook in her hand; the gold stripper silhouette logo winked in the light as she turned it back and forth. She kept starting to rant but the words never made it out. My father broke out the booze that day, shoving a glass at her during one of her openmouthed states. When she recovered, I'll admit, I wished for the return of the koi look.

I was reconsidering that mom-only laundry policy now or maybe thinking about adopting Ella as a second mom so that she met the requirements and could do my uniforms. Ella would be an amazing mother. I sighed at the thought of guilt-free, homemade desserts. The only problem was that I needed clean stuff to put underneath too.

Laundry was so much simpler when I could go home, but the strained post-Joe situation still lingered and ruled that out.

The possible clothing stash at Ranger's was looking more and more tempting. Parking in my usual dumpster spot, I headed across the parking lot.

Then I had a brainwave. Ella! Ella was the answer. I pulled out my cell and fiddled with it. Ha! I knew Ranger had programmed her number.

"Hello, Stephanie," Ella said. "It's good to hear from you. Is there something I can help you with?"

The joys of caller ID. I stepped into the elevator and said, "Hi, Ella! Yes, actually, there is. With all of the extra shifts, I'm running out of Rangeman stuff. Would you mind checking the seventh floor to see if there are any of my uniforms up there?"

"I'd be happy to, Stephanie, but I'm sure there are two in the closet." She paused. "Would you like me to order some more uniforms for you?"

I realized I'd opened my apartment door without a shred of caution, cell phone awkwardly cradled on my shoulder. Door shut, I grabbed the phone again and shrugged. The killer dustbunnies could have me at this point.

"Oh, no thanks, it's a temporary problem." Possibly very temporary. I dumped my purse on a kitchen chair and waved at an oblivious Rex. "Hey, would you mind leaving those uniforms in my cube, if you have a minute?"

There was a split-second pause, but Ella recovered beautifully. "Not at all, dear. I'll put them out tonight. And you know," her voice held a hint of gentle reproach, "if you bring your laundry in, I'd be happy to take care of that as well."

"Thanks, Ella. See you tomorrow."

Good. Clothing emergency handled. I swear, when even getting dressed was a hassle, probably it was a good day to spend in bed under the covers. If only I could.

Although come to think of it, a short nap wasn't such a bad idea since I didn't sleep well last night and was up at stupid o'clock this morning. I popped some pellets in Rex's cage and headed to the bedroom.

o o o

I was fascinated by the way Cal's shiny bald head looked under the flickering light of what was left of the hotel sign. If only the sign rotated colors, it could be a cool light show. Tearing my gaze back to what I was supposed to be watching, I bit my lip to keep from fidgeting. Pain seemed to be an effective way to handle it, but my lip was chewed raw by my attempt to remain professional and at least appear to have a zone.

Three hours in and no junk food wrappers lay around my feet, no half empty soda cups were crammed into the drink holders and no words had been spoken. Insanity loomed.

On the positive side, I didn't have a serious need to find a ladies' room like I usually did this far into a surveillance shift.

I had just decided that tonight confirmed that surveillance needed inclusion on my list of things to avoid like the plague, possibly in the slot right under brussels sprouts when Cal startled me out of my reverie.

"Steph?"

After hours of quiet, broken only by check-ins to the control room, even a normal tone of voice sounds really loud. "Yeah?"

"Is everything okay?"

Okay, this day was cursed. Really and truly cursed. I don't know Cal well at all, why was he asking me that? "Um yeah, sure. Why?"

"Oh."

He went back to being a hulking immobile lump in the driver's seat and it didn't seem like he was going to say anything else, so I cast aside my newly acquired professionalism and continued the conversation. "Why do you ask?"

He ducked his head. "Don't know. Guess you just seem different from what the guys said."

Well, here was an unexpected motherlode of information waiting to be tapped…if I really wanted to know. "What did the guys say?" I asked cautiously.

"Oh, you know."

No, I really didn't. That was the point. I waited him out.

Stupid Merry Men with their ability to tolerate perpetual silence. "Cal?" I prodded.

"You know, they just said…you know...you're fun."

"They said what?" I screeched, Ed's insinuations roaring through my head.

Cal turned at that, shocked, then held his hands out, palms facing me, in a placating gesture. "No, no! Not that kind of fun."

It was tough to banish that amount of instant fury, but I managed, even though adrenalin was still coursing through me. "What kind of fun then, exactly?"

"Well, you know. You bring snacks. You talk." Cal paused, at a loss. "Fun. You're entertaining. I figured maybe you weren't comfortable with me or something."

Entertainment, I thought bitterly. That word seems to haunt me. "I was trying to be more professional."

"Oh. I thought maybe it was my tattoo. Puts some women off."

And others, what? I thought, but didn't ask. "Nope. I was just trying to be a good partner."

He laughed then. "Steph, nobody sits still in complete silence on a stakeout. You go nuts."

Surprised, I said, "Ranger does."

That got a louder laugh. "Yeah and that's why all of us hate getting surveillance duty with him."

"Oh." I was quiet for a moment. "I might have a candy bar, you want half?"

o o o

The next hour passed more comfortably. Cal might not be a scintillating conversationalist, but he seemed like a nice guy.

"Hey! Isn't that our guy?"

"Yeah, looks like him." Huh, Tank had called this one.

Cal informed the control room and they said Vince and Ram were closest and on the way to back us up. He opened his door.

"Wait," I put a hand on his arm. "I'll go over and distract him and you stun and cuff him from behind." This guy was nasty--weapons violations, assaults and drug dealing--nothing like my skips and I didn't want to chance anything bad happening. "Turn around a sec."

Cal nodded and complied. I whipped my t-shirt over my head, turned it inside out to hide the logo and threw it back on, knotting it under my breasts. Not even close to my usual distraction outfit--I should really keep a duffel of necessities handy like the guys do--but it'd have to do. My purse would conceal my gun, which for once, albeit reluctantly, I'd loaded.

I slid out of the SUV and hurried down the street a ways so I could come at the guy from a different direction. Okay, here goes, I thought. It wasn't hard to put a distressed look on my face. Fortunately, our skip looked fairly average on the outside, no obvious weapons, no blatant craziness. It wouldn't seem that weird when I didn't cross the street to avoid him. For this neighborhood, he looked relatively harmless.

I quickened my pace and pretended to be searching inside my bag. Then I bumped into him and apologized, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to--"

He shot me a wary look, then relaxed when he took in my frightened appearance. "No problem, baby. You lost?"

I studied his face as though I were weighing whether or not to trust him. "I--my car broke down a few blocks from here and I guess I left my cell at home. I'm trying to get to a friend's house and took a wrong turn."

"You need a lift somewhere, baby?"

Ugh, not from you, I mentally shuddered. I let an uncertain look cross my face, no good giving in too easily. That would look suspicious. Where on earth was Cal?

As though he heard me, Cal appeared behind the skip. It's amazing how silent the huge Rangeman guys can be when they want to be. The skip went down, Cal bending to cuff him and I was just congratulating myself on a painless apprehension when there was a shot. Cal grunted and fell.

The last thing I saw was a dark form rushing from the doorway of the apartment building behind us. Then something smashed into my head and everything went dark.

o o o

The bright light made me wince when I finally opened my eyes. Oh great, I knew what bright light meant.

Dark blobs coalesced into a concerned Tank. I blinked at him.

"Back, Steph?" He grinned at me. "Lucky you have such a hard head."

I closed my eyes again. Then I remembered and they shot open. "Cal! Is Cal ok? Last thing I remember is him getting shot!" I tried to sit up and bit back a moan. Ouch, what had hit me? A truck?

Tank put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down gently. "You have a concussion. You need to lie still or your stomach won't be happy, let alone your head."

Now that he mentioned it, I did feel a little nauseated. "Cal?"

"He'll be ok." Tank said. "Bullet got him in the shoulder. It came in at a weird angle and got under the vest. Guy was a lousy shot."

"Thank God. What happened?"

"Car cameras caught it but not that close up. From looking at them and what Cal said, seems your skip went down easy, but a second guy came out of the building behind you, shot Cal and clubbed you on the head with his gun."

"Why? I mean, why didn't he shoot me too?"

Tank looked uncomfortable. "When Vince and Ram got there, the shooter had picked you up and was taking you into the building. Skip was still out. Not sure if the shooter was coming back for him."

"Oh." Glad I slept through that. "Tell Vince and Ram thanks."

"Will do."

Everything hit me all of a sudden and my eyes welled up.

"Steph, you hurting?" Tank leaned over me. "Want me to call the doctor?"

I shook my head and immediately regretted it. Swiping tears off my face, I tried to stop, but couldn't.

Tank's huge hand landed awkwardly on my shoulder. "You sure?"

"I nearly got Cal killed." I whispered and my body shook with a sob I couldn't control.

"No, you didn't, Steph. You couldn't see the guy from where you were. You should have been wearing a vest…yeah. Ranger would never forgive me if I let you get shot."

"If I'd been aware of my surroundings, I would've seen him." I turned away from him and wrestled my emotions back into submission. I hate crying in front of people. "When can I get out of here, Tank?"

"You need somebody to wake you up throughout the night if you leave. Bobby said you can stay in the apartment next to his tonight and he'll check in on you if you don't want to go to your parents' house or somewhere else."

"I don't want to kick anybody out of their apartment." I hesitated. Rangeman didn't seem like it would be a friendly destination after I'd gotten another one of their guys shot.

Tank said, "We keep it open for stuff like this. It's not a problem and it's Bobby's job."

"You can stay with me if you want, Cupcake." Joe's voice offered quietly from the doorway and I rolled back over to look at him. Ouch again. "In the guest room," he clarified, seeing my face. "I'll wake you. Not like I haven't been through the routine before." His lips twitched faintly in a wry smile at that.

I stared at him through my haze of tears.

"Could I speak with Stephanie alone, Tank?" Joe asked.

Tank hesitated, looked at me and stood. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

Joe slumped into the recently vacated chair. "You know I still get a heart attack whenever your name comes over the scanner."

"Sorry," I mumbled, hoping this wasn't going to lead into another lecture.

He looked tired as he swiped his hand over his eyes and unshaven cheeks. "Not being together doesn't seem to make it any easier."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Look Cupcake, come home with me. I think you left some of your sweats at my house. I'll set you up in the guest room, put Bob in bed with you on comfort duty…make you feel better."

"Bob misses me, huh?" I said softly.

Joe's warm brown eyes were bleary and exhausted. "Bob is desolate without you, Cupcake."

"Why are you doing this, Joe?"

"Because if you're at my house, I'll know you're safe," he said bluntly.

I frowned. "It's over now. This isn't a stalker. It was a bad takedown. I'm not in any danger now."

"My head knows that," he said. "Doesn't change the fact that my heart wants you safely in the guest room cuddled up with Bob."

I felt like crying again, damn it. I was prepared for a ranting, screaming Joe. I knew how to defend against that. But this unhappy, earnest Joe hurt my heart.

A knock at the door was my salvation. It was Bobby. "Sorry, hope I'm not interrupting. Steph, I wanted to know if I should get your checkout process going."

"Yeah, Bobby, that would be great. Thanks."

"You coming back to Haywood? I've got some great movies on DVD, we'll have a marathon. Ella wants to know what your favorite soup is so you'll have something when you feel like eating."

I clung to the life preserver he'd tossed me. "Ok. That sounds good. Tell Ella chicken soup is fine." Rangeman no longer seemed like the scariest option for the night.

Bobby disappeared and I focused on Joe. "Joe…thank you." He was looking down at his hands, lips tightened in a thin line. "Thank you for offering, it's--it just isn't a good idea. I'll be safe at Rangeman."

"It's about him, isn't it." It wasn't a question.

Actually, no, it really wasn't. I reached out and laid my hand on top of his. "No. If I go back to your place, it would be too easy to slip right back into--" I sighed. "And that doesn't make you happy. I don't make you happy, Joe."

He still wouldn't look at me. "And I don't make you happy."

I squeezed his hands. "I love you," I said, and it was the truth.

"But that's not enough," he finished for me. He still looked tense all over, but he flipped his hand and cradled mine between his two warm palms. "Does he make you happy?"

I so wasn't up for this conversation. "I don't know, Joe. I can't do this tonight. Understand, please?"

His hands tightened around mine…and then he let them go. "Okay, Cupcake. Take care of yourself." He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "I love you."

Then he left.


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't own JE's characters and I'm not making any money from this story._

Tell Him Challenge: Your challenge is using this song—either using the lyrics, or the idea. Hopefully, this qualifies.

**Chapter 5**

"Hey, Beautiful." The voice was low and eased me gently into consciousness. I opened my eyes and saw a dark shape obscuring the flickering light of the television. "What happened? Bobby said you were in bed when he left."

He nudged me over on the couch and arranged me against him so my head was pillowed on his chest. Then he stole the blanket.

"Lester!" I complained sleepily and he shook the blanket out, draping it over both of us.

"So? Why aren't you in the comfy bed?"

"Couldn't sleep after the last wake up," I said.

"Oh yeah, I can see that by how alert you are now."

"Old black and white movies put me to sleep." I yawned. "Works every time."

Lester turned up the volume on the one currently playing. I squinted at the picture, but didn't recognize it. It looked like a romantic comedy. The actors' banter was the only sound for a few minutes. Then he started flipping channels.

"Hey, I was watching that!'

He snorted. "Yeah, with your eyes closed. What movie was it? Tell me and I'll flip back."

I flicked him on his arm. I hadn't been paying attention. "Uh, the one with Katharine Hepburn."

"Yeah, that ONE with Katharine Hepburn." Lester held the remote out of my reach and continued flipping.

"What are you doing here, anyway? You're supposed to be Bobby." I was waking up a little.

"I told Bobby I'd get the early morning shift. Divvy it up a little."

"Sorry."

"Not a problem, Beautiful."

"Is Cal ok?"

"Last I heard, why?"

"I feel guilty I got him shot," I mumbled.

"You didn't get him shot."

Not wanting to argue, I didn't reply, just tucked my head under his neck. He paused in his channel surfing. "You're sounding more awake now, you want to tell me what was up with you yesterday?"

Damn Lester for sneak middle of the night attacks. "Nope." 'Tell Him' played softly from the television. Glancing over, I identified the movie. "Ugh, switch this. I hate this movie. Julia Roberts is an awful bitch in this one. I have no clue why it's supposed to be funny and touching that she's sabotaging her friend's wedding."

Lester seemed unimpressed by my impromptu movie review. He didn't join in the snark or give me his opinion on the relative hotness of Cameron Diaz and Julia Roberts; he merely changed the station to some animated movie. "So there is something wrong."

I watched a minute. Nemo. I'm not aunt to two young girls for nothing. I've seen 'em all, multiple times. "Cal got shot."

"Not yesterday morning, he didn't."

Oh, the turtle scene. I liked the turtles. But I was sleepy, so I turned my face back into Lester's chest.

"Lester," I said, my voice muffled. "Do you know where Ranger is?"

"Is that what you're upset about?" he asked. "Ranger?"

"No." Yes…a little. I missed Ranger more than I'd admit to anyone.

Lester waited.

Lester and I don't have deep heartfelt conversations. We skim along the surface; we get the broad strokes of the big picture and then joke, tease and cheer each other up if need be, but tonight--maybe it was the darkness--tonight it felt all right.

"Sometimes I worry about him. I wonder what he's doing and whether he's okay."

"Steph, he wouldn't want you to worry about him."

"Doesn't mean I don't."

"Every time?"

"Since Scrog," I said. "I guess before that it seemed like nothing could hurt him. Like he really was Batman or something. A superhero."

Lester was quiet.

"I guess I just wondered, do you guys know if he's okay when he's on one of these things?"

"Tank would get word if he wasn't," he said, "and nobody's contacted Tank as far as I know. Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you where he is or what he's doing."

"Oh...I know that. I guess I don't need to know what he's doing."

"Just that he's okay."

"Yeah."

"Steph, have you ever told him?"

"What?"

Lester got that irritated 'don't be stupid' tone in his voice. "That you…worry." Sounded like he changed his mind about whatever he was originally going to say.

"That's the last thing I'd tell him."

Neither of us talked after that and eventually I fell asleep again. Listening to Lester's heartbeat was comforting and worked just as well as the old movies.

o o o

I was going to die. My head hurt, but that was to be expected. Fever and nausea, however, were not things I'd anticipated. My nose was so stuffed up I couldn't breathe. That was probably a plus at this point, considering my morning activities. My head sank down on the tiled floor of the bathroom and I reveled in the soothing coolness on my cheek. Thank God for Ella. This floor was probably cleaner than my pillowcase at home.

My stomach had emptied itself more times than I thought was possible, but it still felt too uneasy for me to leave the safety of the bathroom. Lester had left at some point in the morning and I'd woken up alone in bed with an urgent need to dash to the toilet.

Oh God. I had the flu of death. Rotten Ed. He must've already been sick and passed it on to me during our stakeout. I railed at the sky--or the bathroom ceiling, which was the closest I could get at the moment--at the injustice of giving me a triple whammy of stuff to deal with. I'd thought I was immune. I'm not sick often and I'd looked forward to taunting Ranger about the beneficial effects of sugar and processed foods on the immune system compared to that healthy crap most of the guys eat. Now that was all wrecked.

I curled up a little bit more; now the floor was chilling me. Stupid fever.

"Steph?" Bobby. I was saved. Maybe.

"In here," I croaked, throat raw from the nasty events of the morning. I tried again, louder, "In here!" but I don't think he heard me because when he did come into the bathroom, he was mumbling under his breath and sounded frantic. I caught Ranger's name just before he opened the door, but couldn't hear anything else.

"Hi." I managed a finger wave from the floor, but didn't get up or turn my head to look at him. Getting up was much too risky and my head was perfectly comfortable in its current position.

"Oh man, Steph." Bobby knelt beside me. "What happened? Are you dizzy? Did you fall?" His nose must've kicked in because he said next, "You threw up." He felt my forehead and noted my reddened, stuffed up nose. Toilet paper is not the best kleenex.

"Lots." I offered weakly. He tried to roll me over and I moaned in protest, grabbing at his arm. "Nooooo. Just leave me here. Please. Feels better here."

"Steph, you're burning up and shivering. We need to get you back to bed."

"Better here." I insisted stubbornly.

Bobby stood up and grabbed a robe off the hook on the back of the door. Then he wrapped my t-shirt clad body in it.

"Shut your eyes."

I obeyed and felt a damp washcloth roving over my face. Then it went away and I cracked my eyes open again and saw him poking around in the cabinet under the sink. He came up with a paper cup and a bottle of something.

"Be right back, Steph."

Cold, hard, smooth tile.

"Can you sit up a bit?" Bobby gently eased me upwards and I felt my stomach roil in protest. Pulling away, I leaned over the toilet and heaved violently, but nothing came up.

I glared at Bobby. I wanted to say, 'see what you did?'

"Sorry, Steph. Here, try taking these with a sip of this." He proffered some capsules and the cup, now filled.

Resistance was probably futile; I didn't want to put anything else in there, but I was too weak to argue about it, so I swallowed them down.

"Now sip a little more of the liquid. Don't want you to get dehydrated. We need to get some fluids in you. Replace your electrolytes."

It certainly didn't feel like I had electro-anythings at this point. I felt completely burned out.

He coaxed a few more sips into me. "Steph, we need to get you back into bed. I put a bucket by the bed if you need it. You'll be more comfortable in there."

"It's the death flu, isn't it?"

"Yeah, looks like it." He put an arm around my shoulders. "Want me to help you up or carry you? Either way--"

Damn. He was serious. I had to move. "No carrying. I'm up. I'm up." I leaned into his support and dragged myself up off the floor and we limped over to the bed.

He drew back the covers and I eased myself down, curling back into the fetal position as he tucked the blankets around me. "What'd you give me?" I asked.

"Some Zofran. Helps the nausea. And some Tylenol for the fever."

"Oh."

He pushed the bedside table phone to the edge nearest me. "Dial 8 for me. Ella is 6."

"Thanks." I know. I know. I work here. I buried my face in the pillow, then thought of something and half sat up. "Wait--Rex!"

"Hal's got him."

I relaxed back into the pillows.

He put the television remote next to the phone and patted my shoulder gently. "Don't worry, Steph. It's not really the death flu. Just feels it. Haven't lost a patient to it yet!"

"Mmmph." The way I felt, living didn't sound all that fantastic. I heard him move around the room.

"Bucket's down here." He was back. "Drink this if you can. Ella will be up with something your stomach can handle in a few hours. If you need anything before then--"

"Call. I know." Oops, that sounded a bit testy. Bobby was only trying to help. "Thanks, Bobby." Now leave me to die in peace, please.

It looked like the men of Rangeman were going to be safe from me for a while longer. I lay there and pictured various torments that Ed deserved for getting me sick. Several Wile E. Coyote-like endings ran through my head and cheered me slightly. A piano fell on Ed's head; he was blown up; he went splat into a wall. When the gnawing in my gut finally eased, I drifted off.

o o o

The next two days passed in a feverish haze. The medicine Bobby gave me fixed my stomach enough that I could rest. Pretty much all I did was sleep, take pills, force down soup and add to the mountain of tissues in the wastebasket.

Today I felt better, well enough to worry again. My mother hadn't heard from me in days and I'd never called her after the shooting. I wasn't even at my apartment. She was probably worried sick and furious. Despite her disapproval of how I handled my relationship with Joe, she still expected periodic check-ins from me letting her know I was alive and well. Oops.

On second thought, I didn't feel that much better…maybe after lunch.


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't own JE's characters and I'm not making any money from this story._

_For Alf's 'Don't quote me' challenge using the (paraphrased) quote: _The opposite of loneliness, it's not togetherness. It is intimacy.

**Truths by jnharrow**

**Chapter 6**

I was ready to pull my hair out on the fourth night at the Rangeman apartment. Almost all traces of the flu had gone away except a yucky lingering post flu all over weakness, but Bobby still wouldn't let me leave or work. He wanted me to sit tight for one more day. Despite the huge plasma television and DVDs the apartment was stocked with, I was desperate to get out of there. Being cooped up is no fun.

Cranky, I shoved Lester's foot off my side of the couch and pulled the blanket up to my shoulders.

"Oh, so that's how it is." He paused the movie. "Here I thought you'd be all cheerful at Ranger's safe return and instead you're in a--" I froze and he stopped mid-tease.

Awkward silence followed as I tried desperately not to be hurt and Lester presumably racked his brain trying to think of something tactful to say or a way to extricate himself from his current situation.

"He didn't tell you he was back?"

Or not. Tact never was his strong point.

"No."

Lester recovered somewhat. "He's probably swamped with all the backlog. Things still aren't back to normal yet."

"Yeah, probably." I reached over him, hit play on the remote and jerked the blanket back in place. I did wonder when he'd gotten back, but Ranger wasn't a topic of conversation that I wanted to pursue.

o o o

The next day, I felt much better physically. Shrugging on my uniform, freshly laundered by Ella, and heading to the elevator, I grudgingly admitted to myself that living in the same building where I worked was handy, even if I was surrounded by the enemy.

Rethinking my earlier decision to leave, I'd asked Bobby to let me stay in the apartment for a little while longer. It suited my purposes well to be on the spot, so to speak.

I'd used the downtime wisely--well, the parts where I was awake and coherent--and the beginning of a plan was forming. I would quit Rangeman. There was no reason for me to stay. Ed was right about some things. I wasn't trained for the job I was doing and I had been responsible for getting Cal hurt, despite what Lester said. No matter who was saying nasty things about me, I didn't want to be the cause of any more injuries.

Ranger was one of the reasons I'd taken the job in the first place and the fact that he hadn't even checked in on me when he'd heard I was sick and in the building or even let me know he'd made it back made it horribly clear to me where I stood with him. Oh probably if I talked to him he'd still agree to that no-strings, no price, no commitment relationship he'd offered before, if I wanted to accept his terms. Though I'd struggled with that temptation in the past, I knew that wasn't something I could do. If it hurt this much to be ignored when we weren't involved, how much more would it hurt if I added sex into the mix?

Togetherness wasn't the opposite of loneliness. Intimacy was. I'd read that somewhere--probably in a Cosmo article--and it's true. It certainly was with Dickie and in some ways with Joe too. Neither Joe nor I shared enough with each other for true intimacy. Ranger wasn't even willing to try.

So where did that leave me? It left me knowing that I needed to break away from Rangeman for multiple reasons. I'd miss the steady paycheck, the guys I liked and God, the medical insurance I so often tapped, but I needed to get Ranger out of my head and try to find something I could be good at career-wise. Both things that could be accomplished by quitting.

However…I couldn't just slink away with my tail between my legs. Before I left, I had some things I needed to settle for my own peace of mind.

I wanted to know exactly who was spreading rumors about me and what they were saying. I couldn't go on wondering, if I saw the guys in the future, whether they were saying awful things about me behind my back. In order to accomplish that, some investigating had to be done. While I made my way to my desk, I thought about possibilities.

Obviously, I needed to either tap into the existing building monitoring system and try to pull up some old recordings or plant some of my own bugs and hope the same people were still talking. Neither of which I had the ability to do. Either of which could get me into some serious trouble if I were caught. Randy Briggs could probably do the former in a heartbeat--if he could get past Rangeman's defenses, which he probably couldn't without inside information, that I wouldn't give him even if I had it. That would be completely wrong, not to mention disloyal. However Ranger had been acting towards me recently, he'd done a lot for me in the past and letting an outsider get access to private corporate data would be a terrible thing to do to him.

Planting bugs had its own difficulties; mainly, that I didn't have any bugs or any idea how they worked beyond the obvious. I'd worn wires before, but I'd never had any desire to learn exactly how they were protecting me. My lack of curiosity was posing a problem for me now.

Okay, well, I'd have to focus on my strengths. I would concentrate on the things I had as opposed to those I didn't. I'd thought long and hard on that one and came up with only one. My people skills. So who was at the heart of monitoring in Rangeman? Hector. Since he was unlikely to be swayed by my charm due to the language barrier and his personal 

preferences, my best hope was to target the weak link of his department-- Gary.

Gary is a very unusual Rangeman. If anyone is proof that looks aren't considered in the hiring process, Gary is. He's about five foot four on a good day and balding, though he's in his mid-twenties, I think. He's also the first one at the doughnuts when Hal gets them into place…and he doesn't take just one. I guess the physical requirements are waived for personnel who don't do any fieldwork. If I wasn't planning on quitting and it didn't sound so mind-numbingly boring, that might tempt me into becoming a desk jockey on a permanent basis myself.

Gary spoke English, but he didn't socialize enough for anyone to really confirm that firsthand. I'd seen him eating in the break room late every day he was there. Presumably, the time was to avoid contact with other humans. I'm sure he'd rather eat in the tech office, but Hector's very strict about food and drink in there. That was my only opening to make contact, I decided. When I got to my desk, I glanced quickly at the stack of work and queue of emails before pulling up the company schedule. Aha! I was in luck. Gary was on it for today. Perfect.

o o o

I successfully evaded everyone the whole morning. Anyone who might have paused at my cube was greeted by the sight of me with very visible headphones, concentrating on the monitor in front of me and ignoring everything in my peripheral vision. I looked busy. The artfully mussed and clipped stacks of blank copy paper I'd placed under the searches in my in tray helped too. In actuality, someone must've helped out while I was sick, because the real stack hadn't been very big.

A glance at the clock told me showtime had arrived. Removing my headphones, I touched up my makeup, fluffed my hair and was ready.

Score! Gary was there, his head in his laptop, making quick work of the huge sub in his hand. I'd have to hurry or his lunch would be over before I could do anything.

Grabbing the first sandwich I saw from the ravaged platter in the refrigerator, I went over to his table. Flashing my medium bright smile--I didn't want to scare him off with a high wattage one--I said, "Mind if I sit with you? I hate eating alone."

Not waiting for a reply, I planted myself in the chair next to him. "Time just got away from me today. I can't believe it's so late."

He tore his gaze away from the screen and his mouth opened as though speech was imminent. Promising, but nothing came out. I detected a hint of confusion--okay, more than a hint--in his watery blue eyes.

No problem, I can do this. Might be a challenge, but you just have to know what button to press. "You're Gary, right? The guy responsible for those wires that keep me safe?"

He was still wordlessly staring at me. A lesser woman might be daunted at that, but I had a goal, so I persevered. "You also keep the computers running smoothly here, too, huh? That must be so complicated. I've always wanted to learn about that stuff, but never really had the opportunity, you know?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah." Okay, he managed a word. That's progress.

"But at least Rangeman gets the best equipment, right? My computer here is way faster than the one at my job at E.E. Martin."

A spark of interest flickered in his eyes. Success. "Yeah, it's so much better than the last place I was. They still had Windows NT there, if you can believe it."

I made a sympathetic face and nodded, taking a bite of my sandwich and hoping he'd continue on his own.

"Here, nothing's older than a year or two and everything has to comply to a certain standard, so nobody can lag behind. Rangeman donates the older stuff to underprivileged kids' programs. Usually those places only get 

old junk, but our obsoleted machines are still really useable. And the gadgets I get to play with here--" He was really warming up now. His face lit up as he bragged about his toys.

I continued nodding and making noncommittal noises as though I were following every word he said.

We both ate as he talked and as he crumpled his sub wrapper, I pounced. "Hey, would you mind showing me some of your stuff? I'm fascinated, but I haven't had much exposure to electronics or computers."

He looked taken aback for a moment and I mentally pleaded with him not to let me down. Come on, Gary, come on. "Yeah. I guess I could do that. Sure."

Now, I knew that the tech office was a world unto itself. Located in the basement of the building with the firing range and equipment stores, some of the men referred to it as "the bunker". Hector didn't like people hanging out there and people didn't like annoying Hector. I had faith that my new friend would be able to surmount this problem, however. If Ranger could scramble the cameras with a button, surely this guy could manage an equipment failure or something to keep us out of trouble. I also had new suspicions about who was actually helping Hal circumvent the cameras for his doughnut capers.

I trailed him back to the bunker, not wanting to take the risk that he would reconsider, keeping up a friendly chatter the whole way.

He slid his card in the door, the light turned green and it clicked open. I'd never been down here and I was actually pretty curious. At first glance around the large room, all I saw was the parts covering every flat surface and a multitude of screens and computers. In the back was a glass wall with racks of blinking lights.

Gary led me to one of the benches and dragged up a chair for me. "The guys are on an install, so it's not a bad time to visit," he said.

I turned my attention to his desk and saw something familiar on one of the screens. Hey, wasn't that--

Gary spotted me looking and blushed bright red; with a few keystrokes the view of my cube disappeared. I suddenly felt less guilty about manipulating Gary. I had been feeling a little bad, but if he spent his day watching me in my cube, I kind of thought he deserved whatever he got.

I didn't let it show on my face though, pretending I hadn't noticed and gradually his pasty normal coloring returned.

"So…" he said awkwardly. "What do you want to see?"

"Oh, I don't know," I put my finger on my lips as if I were thinking and saw his gaze riveted to my mouth. Creepier and creepier. "How about the wires and stuff? I use those all the time and I've always wondered a few things, like how do the guys hear me? Would they lose me if I got too far away? I've worried about that."

Instantly, his confidence returned. He walked over to a tall cabinet along the wall and grabbed a few things from it. "You don't have to worry. These are state of the art. They have a transmission range of…" I let him drone on for a moment and then steered him back to what I needed to know.

"So both the wires I wear and bugs you can plant transmit to some other piece of equipment?" Okay, that was a truly stupid question. Acting dumb but not too dumb was definitely an art I hadn't mastered yet.

He had a patronizing look on his face now as he dumbed it down for me. Yep, feeling less and less guilty for using him. "Yeah, they transmit to receivers in the cars and to the ear pieces on your jobs. We also take recordings of everything, in case we need them in court."

I nodded sagely, "So what about bugs? What do they look like? And don't all those tapes take up a ton of space?"

"Nah. Everything's on disk now. No tapes. See this?" He held up a tiny piece of electronics. "This is our latest. Really hard to find. Super small, but very powerful. Voice activated. Transmits to this--" He held another piece up and described its wonderfulness. I took in the necessary bits.

"So is this what they use in buildings and houses too?"

He smirked. "Well, it depends on whether they're supposed to be seen or not."

"I'll bet the ones you installed here are the best."

"Oh yeah. Ranger insists on the best. You have a lot more latitude when you're doing visible systems. You're tapping into the current, so no battery's needed and size isn't a problem, so it's cheaper. Smaller is always more expensive." I gave him some wide-eyed encouragement and he brought up the Rangeman system login to show it off. Right before he entered his password, I leaned in a little too far and my left breast brushed his arm.

He inhaled deeply and I was glad I'd spritzed myself with Dolce Vita. Lester had brought it over along with some other things while I was sick. What he thought I'd do with perfume when my nose was stuffed to high heck, I don't know. Probably it was the same reasoning that inspired him to pack the never worn black, crystal-studded thong Grandma Mazur had given me for Christmas. She thought I needed some brightening up "down there". It usually resided in the far back of my panty drawer, waiting for the day I might require flashy butt floss. At the moment it was the last clean pair of underwear I had in the building. Thank you, Lester.

One of my curls dangled forward and brushed Gary's cheek and coincidentally he botched his password and had to retype it. Fortunately for me, his coordination seemed to be suffering from my proximity. The third try he typed it very slowly and deliberately. Gotcha.

I may not have many skills, but my memory isn't bad. I waitressed in college…well... before they stuck me behind the counter after some incidents that were not at all my fault. They insisted we memorize the 

orders at the table, and I got pretty good at remembering things--short term anyway. It looks more professional, they said. I said to myself, you serve burgers and fries, people, how professional do we need to look? Personally, I thought getting the order right looked more professional. But I couldn't complain about the mandatory wine service lessons. Those were educational and I tasted some decent wines. And the memory practice…well that had come in handy a few times too. Including now.

As I continued to prod Gary into showing me exactly what I wanted to know, I rested a hand on his shoulder and he was as compliant as a lamb. With the internal website address, login and password acquired, it looked like getting into the recordings was going to be a go. Silently, I breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn't going to need to acquire and plant bugs. I knew where they were stored now, but the odds were far greater that I'd be caught in the act doing that. That also felt too much like stealing equipment…even though I would only technically be borrowing it. This way, I could log in and play back the old recordings to find out what they'd really been saying.

I stayed for a while longer, asking questions about various things so Gary wouldn't get suspicious at my sudden decline in interest. When I escaped, ecstatic at my successful mission, I hurried back to my cube. It was weird, I'd been miserable off and on for days, but at the moment I felt lighthearted. Playing spy was kind of…fun.


	7. Chapter 7

_I don't own JE's characters and I'm not making any money from this story._

_Note: I'm not fond of song fics. But this is for a challenge and the lyrics are pretty darn fitting. I know I'm supposed to intertwine the song with the story and I did as I wrote it, but since that's part of what annoys me about song fics, I didn't leave it that way. Some of the lyrics are at the beginning and some at the end. I wrote the chapter to go along with what the lyrics said was happening as best I could. _

Perfectly Plum 's Lurker Sue's Paralyzer challenge

Using the mood of this song or the lyrics to inspire something

wonderful, please play with Paralyzer by Finger Eleven. Have fun!

au.youtube. com/watch? vC5kVa8nRaqE

**Truths by jnharrow**

**Chapter 7**

_I hold on so nervously  
To me and my drink  
I wish it was cooling me  
But so far, has not been good  
It's been shitty  
And I feel awkward, as I should  
This club has got to be  
The most pretentious thing  
Since I thought you and me  
Well I am imagining  
A dark lit place  
Or your place or my place_

_Well I'm not paralyzed  
But, I seem to be struck by you  
I want to make you move  
Because you're standing still  
If your body matches  
What your eyes can do  
You'll probably move right through  
Me on my way to you_

_I hold out for one more drink  
Before I think  
I'm looking too desperately  
But so far has not been fun  
I should just stay home  
If one thing really means one  
This club will hopefully  
Be closed in three weeks  
That would be cool with me  
Well I'm still imagining  
A dark lit place  
Or your place or my place_

_Well, I'm not paralyzed  
But, I seem to be struck by you  
I want to make you move  
Because you're standing still  
If your body matches  
What your eyes can do  
You'll probably move right through  
Me on my way to you_

My fragile hold on myself and my drink was loosening with every moment I spent in the stupid bar. Somehow, my first drink--a shot--had contained alcohol, even though it wasn't supposed to, and I'd downed it without realizing. I figured this out a heartbeat later when I was choking. I'm such a lightweight with alcohol that even one shot has a considerable effect on me and this one was no exception. I stood near the bar, nervous and miserable, hoping our skip would show up as planned and that I wouldn't botch things up when he did.

Holding my new and improved non-alcoholic drink up to my cheek, I let the chill of the glass sink into my skin. Hey, drinking it wasn't doing much to cool me down in this sweathouse, maybe a more direct application would help. Plus, I was supposed to be attracting attention, right? If the guy would get here all right already. I drew two fingers through the condensation on the glass and slowly dragged a damp trail down my neck to the hollow of my neck and down into my cleavage.

Nope. Didn't help all that much. Plus it was so hot and crowded, I don't think anyone was noticing me at all.

The miserable part was due mostly to the alcohol and partly to my earlier invincible feeling wearing off. When I do drink, if there's something on my mind, it doesn't take much to turn me into a teary, morose drunk. This is weird, because I think I'm mostly an optimistic kind of person, not a wallow in her cups kind of person. I guess stubbornly optimistic on the outside would be more accurate. Probably, drinking makes me drop that façade. The last place I wanted to be was in this pretentious, noisy, and unbearably hot club.

The crowd was young too, on the whole--like not legal to drink and shouldn't even be here young--and I felt awkward and ancient in the midst of them. I wanted to be back at the Rangeman building, going through the recordings. Listening to find out who didn't like me. Yeah, there's a cheery thought. But the faster I found out, the faster I could quit and go home. Stupid, inconvenient last-minute distraction job.

So far, the only person I'd distracted was myself. The sensual movements of the dancers in the dimly lit club didn't do much to chase my mind away from the one person it wanted to fixate on. More than the possible betrayal of the Merry Men, Ranger's distance was killing me. It was worse since he'd come home. Memories of that one night at my apartment kept flashing through my brain. Again I felt his skin under my fingertips, so surprisingly smooth and soft over the hard muscles underneath. I felt his strong fingers throughout the night stroking, penetrating, gripping me, urging me to move and experienced his own very talented tongue. I heard the low murmurs in Spanish, as his long hair brushed my skin and made me shiver as he learned what made me moan. Studying the ice cubes clinking in my drink, I shivered again now as I felt the familiar tingle at the back of my neck.

Raising my eyes, I looked for him. He wasn't that far away but I couldn't see him well in the near darkness. Not well enough to see his eyes. But I could _feel _his stare and was struck again by the force of his personality, his passion. Surely it was passion. Certainly, some intense emotion was being communicated in the vibes sent my way.

Just like that my mood flipped capriciously from sadness to anger. I'd stood by nearly paralyzed by my attraction to this man one too many times. He'd toyed with me whenever he wanted and abandoned me after receiving the desired reaction. Well, abandoned emotionally anyway, if not completely.

He leaned in a relaxed pose against the wall, standing completely still, but I knew how fast he could react and wasn't fooled.

I wanted to make him move. I wanted to eradicate his calm. Shred through his defenses, like he tore through mine.

I broke the rule I'd never even bent before and moved towards him, knowing he couldn't know what the hell I was thinking for once. Ranger didn't normally get involved with me during distractions. No one ever said anything, but I knew it was because no guy was going to buy it if I left Ranger's side to join them. Screw it. There wasn't any sign of the skip, it was an hour to last call and I wanted... This. One. Little. Thing.

His lust-darkened, and for once unguarded, eyes had haunted my dreams since our one night together. Heck, his hot gazes had tormented me throughout the years I'd known him. And now I knew his body matched the promise held in his eyes. Let's just say the memory of it didn't help me to maintain a platonic friendship.

I saw him straighten away from his wall. Breaking his watchful stance, he moved in my direction, his large, but oddly graceful body weaving effortlessly through the crowd. He was a dark shadow sliding smoothly through the sweaty young bodies without touching or being touched by anyone. I saw his angry intensity, barely reined in, as he made his way to me, and briefly thought he might continue…might move right through me. He didn't. He stopped a hair's breadth away from me and grasped my upper arms. Now I could see his eyes. They were darkened all right, but they weren't happy. Probably he wasn't thrilled with me for giving up on the skip. Stupid ESP.

I wished I had another drink. Another real one.

Over the wire, he called the job for the night. The guy hadn't shown and it was late. The rest of our team left.

For a moment, my anger slipped and I forgot what I was doing. Nothing about this was fun. I should've told them I was too sick and stayed home. Well, Rangeman home. But I only faltered a moment, because I'd desperately looked for signs of anything behind that blank mask one too many times and had quite a bit of righteous anger stored that had never been expended. Channeling it, I broke free from his grasp--he let me--then I grabbed his hands and drew him onto the dance floor. I'm not sure why he went. I certainly couldn't have made him go. I think I took him by surprise. He was talking, asking me questions, but I said nothing, meeting his frustration with my own silent angry purposefulness. Throwing my arms around his neck, I tried to make him move. And he did.

We did.

Ranger and I spent an hour wrapped around each other on the packed dance floor in that awful club. At first, I danced aggressively, teasingly, seductively. No holds barred mean, even. I got out every last bit of frustration he'd inflicted on me over the years…and then some, if what I felt each time he yanked me in close to him was any indication.

Then--I'm not sure what happened--I calmed. Our furious dance mellowed into something else and we were swaying together, as connected as two people can be with clothing on; his thigh between my legs; his arms enfolding me; his lips brushing occasionally against mine. They were tender, sweet, affectionate kisses that had no place between two people who had danced so brutally before.

A final kiss caressed my lips and I had one last glimpse of his eyes drinking me in before the music stopped. His arms tightened around me, crushing me to him, his lips in my hair.

Then he let me go--abruptly and more than physically. His touch against my arm to guide me out of the club was light and impersonal. The mask was back in place.

All during the ride back, sitting in the dark silence of the car, I was remembering things real and dreamt; the night that had happened at my place; us entwined in his soft sheets on the seventh floor; the intimate dance floor embrace.

Ranger might have a good blank face, good enough to hide from me most of the time, but he couldn't always keep what he felt out of his eyes. I remembered the warmth and love in his eyes as we lay in bed and he brushed a sweat dampened curl out of my face, the fathomless depths of them when I fell out of the cupboard at Stiva's, and what they told me silently in the moment before Scrog shot him.

Then I thought about the way he'd avoided meeting my eyes directly since we left the dance floor.

And always I came back to the blank gaze he wore when he told me he didn't do relationships.

_We'll, I'm not paralyzed_

_But, I seem to be struck by you_

_I want to make you move_

_Because you're standing still_

_If your body matches_

_What your eyes can do_

_You'll probably move right through_

_Me on my way to you _

_I'm not paralyzed_

_But, I seem to be struck by you_

_I want to make you move_

_Because you're standing still_

_If your body matches_

_What your eyes can do_

_You'll probably move right through_

_Me on my way to you_

_You'll probably move right through_

_Me on my way to you_

_You'll probably move right through_

_Me on my way to you_


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I'm not making any money_

**Truths by jnharrow**

**Chapter 8**

Unsurprisingly, Ranger didn't say a word the whole ride back. A quiet "Night, Babe" was all I got as I stepped out of the elevator and into the fourth floor hallway alone. I'd taken my cue from his silence and not risked certain humiliation by asking him what the hell was up with his split personality trick. One minute he was there, with me in the moment, eyes warm and affectionate and the next he was back to completely closed off.

I'd rarely seen him as open as he had been dancing with me tonight. Letting his guard down and simply enjoying himself just wasn't Ranger. Ranger was driven. Ranger was focused. Ranger seemed to have a purpose in everything he did. Sending the guys home so that he could dance with me was unusual, but ending the evening as he had was…not.

This caused a half-hearted return of my earlier anger at him, but my head ached and I was too tired to rouse the energy to be mad. Some days I wondered if one or both of us was truly certifiably nuts. In its own way, this non-relationship with Ranger was turning out to be as dysfunctional and unhealthy as the one I'd ended with Joe. Not a comforting thought.

I unlocked the door and tossed my bag on a table. Crossing to the sofa, I sat and eased my heels off my aching feet. Hours of standing and dancing had thoroughly maimed me. That's the last time I wear a new-ish shoe on a distraction. I'd broken them in a little, but they'd still broken me. I sighed. It was impossible to tell if a job would be ten minutes or hours, like tonight. Here's where I could use a massage genie. Rub my foot and a gorgeous guy with great hands appears, ready and eager to soothe my tired muscles. I was pretty sure I could find the requisite good-looking guy here, probably even one who'd be willing to put his hands wherever I needed them.

I giggled at the thought of calling down to the control room and finding out who was in residence but off-duty. It'd be like room service. Hmm…am I in the mood for a Bobby or a Vince tonight? Maybe Ram would be good. I didn't think I was awake enough for Lester. Lester required enough brain activity to keep up with him verbally as well as physically.

I toyed with the idea. The funny thing was that it was almost possible, depending on the guy I picked. Right. The guy I picked. There was one guy it couldn't be. That thought took the all the fun out of my mental Merry Man menu perusal.

Sitting still was dangerous, too much risk of thinking. The alcohol had worked its way through my system leaving me tired and dull. I stood up and headed to the bathroom. On the way there, my halter landed on the floor, joined moments later by the tiny black skirt. I peeled the thigh-highs off last.

Ransacking the medicine cabinet—thank you, Bobby, for keeping everything stocked—I tried to remember what kind of pain-reliever you weren't supposed to take when you'd had alcohol. I didn't usually drink much due to my low tolerance. Then I shrugged; I hadn't known all through college and as far as I knew, my liver was still functional. If one drink and a Tylenol took me out, so be it. I cupped my hand under the sink and hastily gulped down the pills.

Keep moving. No thinking allowed. Next thing I needed was a shower. One of the things I'd miss when I left this apartment. Endless hot water was something my place did not possess. I stripped the rest of the way and stood gratefully under the spray, letting it wash away bar stench. Lathering up the puff, I cleansed away the lingering stale smells of beer and sweaty college kids. After shampooing and rinsing my hair, I stood still, eyes closed, and let the water lull me into a more tranquil state. For a while, I was almost peaceful.

Then I twisted the knob to cold and nearly jumped out of my skin. I forced myself to stay in for another minute or so. There. That chilled the haze of sleepiness right out of me. No time for resting right now. I had work to do.

Wrapping a towel around my head, I donned the robe from the back of the door and headed to the couch and coffee table, where my laptop waited. Absently, I patted my hair dry while it booted up, making sure I got my ears, because I needed dry ears for this.

Right, almost forgot those. I fished my headset out of the laptop case and plugged it in.

Finally, my hair was no longer dripping and the computer was ready and logged onto Rangeman's internal network. Last chance to let it go, Steph, I thought. I could just leave it alone and quit and get on with my life here in the nice, safe, U.S. of A and never risk learning more about a third world country up close and personal. I discarded that idea immediately. Nope, I had the information and was in the right place and it wasn't like I could come back and do it later if I changed my mind. Besides, if I was caught, realistically the punishment would more likely be termination of my employment at Rangeman instead of a free ride to some snake-ridden jungle. That's what I told myself anyway.

The page came up and I typed in good old Gary's username and password. Soon I'd navigated my way to the recording archive. Oh look, they not only had the building recordings, but the cars too. I remembered that they had some sort of setup for legal purposes and that I'd signed my permission and acceptance of said recording devices in the ream of paper I'd received in my employment packet.

I found the right date and clicked play. After some fast forwarding, Ed's voice snarled at me again, "Look, princess…" I listened to half of it and clicked the playback off. Guess there was no need to revisit that. It was pretty much burned into my memory anyway.

The next one I clicked had Tank and somebody I couldn't recognize talking about a skip. Then it was Lester and Bobby discussing baseball. A few more brought nothing new or interesting. While I listened to the first few, I half expected guys in swat black to burst through my door and take me into custody, but nothing happened and gradually I relaxed. I hit play on another one. People I didn't readily recognize talking about what they were doing for the weekend.

Mild pangs of guilt nagged at me. It wasn't right to be listening to these. I wouldn't like it if someone were going through my conversations. I kind of remembered the happy little document I'd signed also said something about retrieval of recordings being pinpointed to the time and date necessary for whatever investigation was occurring and that no one would be monitoring the audio on a regular basis.

Another thing I hadn't taken into account was the fact that I might not know a lot of the guys by voice alone. What good would it do me to hear something and not know who had said it?

Nonetheless, I persevered and sifted through hours and hours of taped conversations. My eyelids were drooping and my ears were aching from the headphones and I'd found nothing. Guys being guys, sure, but nothing truly offensive about me. I'd heard several conversations about bets which featured me, but that was nothing new and I'd known about it for ages. Several times there'd been some speculation about what had caused the boss's bad mood and sometimes some voices I didn't know that well proffering explanations that involved my name, but every time they were shut down by someone else, sometimes while the someone else was laughing—Lester!—but the conversation stopped there.

Frowning, I started to realize how impossible this task was. If ever there was a proverbial needle in a haystack, this was it. From my random sampling, I'd found that the control room was the best location to listen to. The guys on duty there were incredibly bored most of the time and talked up a storm. Another good place was cars on surveillance duty. But neither treasure trove of bored males bonding had yielded anything resembling what Ed had said.

I set the headset on the table and went to the kitchen to make more coffee. Dawn was approaching and I'd have to log out soon. I'd already decided I wouldn't try another night. This wasn't getting me anywhere and I couldn't risk being caught.

After gulping down some liquid energy, I set the cup down, settled the headphones back over my ears and clicked another recording.

"Hey, man." Tank's voice.

No answer. I'm guessing there was a nod from Ranger, king of silence, because anyone else would've snapped to attention and answered. Tank continued, "When you heading out?"

"Tomorrow." Yup, it was Ranger. I checked the date—the day before he left.

"ETD?"

"0500."

"Bad timing with this flu."

Ranger must've done something quiet again because there was a brief pause with no sound. I imagined his brusque nod.

"Man, when you going to tell them to shove this? You've done enough." Ok, this was a little cryptic. The guilty feeling washed over me again. I knew neither of them would say anything top secret anywhere where it could be recorded, but it still felt intrusive listening in. I checked the link. Main Elevator. I'd wondered if there was another elevator when I saw that, but I didn't see a listing.

I thought I heard a faint sigh.

"More than enough," Tank said.

"Yeah."

There was another pause. I'd realized early on that the recording device was voice activated, but once activated, it stayed that way through silence for a set amount of time—what, I'd no idea—probably to avoid missing anything as the device switched on again.

"So? He come through at all? You renegotiate?" Wow, even talking to each other in their secure building they were wary about saying names and specifics.

"Five more."

"Right of refusal?"

"No."

"Lemme guess, no length of service specified either."

"Right."

More silence.

"Shit contract, Rangeman."

"No shit."

"Then it's over?" Tank asked gruffly.

"Maybe." Ranger's voice sounded cold and distant. "Then it's paid."

"Yeah."

"You're out, anyway."

"Yeah," Tank said. "Thanks again."

Sheesh, Ranger did too much communicating silently. I mean, I always knew that, I just didn't realize the percentage that was inaudible. I wished I knew how to bring up the video feed.

I took another sip of coffee, listening raptly to the silence, hoping for more. Instead I heard the doors open.

"Steph?" Tank.

"Usual orders."

"The paperwork go through yet?"

"No. Another week or so."

"Damn red tape."

Their boots hit pavement and the doors closed.

Usual orders? What were they? Why was Tank asking? There were orders about me? What paperwork? Were they thinking of shipping me off somewhere even before the Cal thing? I started wondering if I'd be traveling in coach or a crate in the cargo hold.

It didn't take much brains to figure out that Ranger was talking about five more super secret missions. What contract? What was paid? Why might he not be done when it was fulfilled? This was worse than being completely in the dark because I couldn't ask either of them without confessing what I'd done. I made a face. Not like they'd answer me anyway.

Great, I'd started this to find out answers and all I'd ended up with was more questions.


End file.
